I Am a Rock
by Unyielding Chaos
Summary: He said to himself every day that he didn’t want to be understood, but Tamaki didn’t seem to hear him, for he went on understanding him anyway. Written for the Inspirational Music-Related Challenge on SHINE.


**Written for Kazu-chan's "Inspirational Music-Related Challenge" on S H I N E. I chose the song "I Am A Rock" by Simon & Garfunkel, because I think it fits Kyouya perfectly. Yay.**

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If there was one thing that Kyouya's time as a host had taught him, it was never to overestimate the durability of his fortress. Because if he felt that it would protect him absolutely and indefinitely, it just made it hurt that much more every time that it was torn down. He spent his whole life building and rebuilding it. If you were to see Kyouya's fortress, you would see that the stone and concrete was perfect and free of blemishes or cracks. Because every time his father made a dent in a brick, or cracked the cement holding it together, Kyouya replaced it with something harder and denser and sturdier, so that next time, it would take more effort to damage it.

But _she _didn't have any trouble damaging it no matter what.

Sixteen years, he had spent fortifying it and putting it back together, repairing the flaws and replacing the bricks. He had had to rebuild his fortress completely once or twice when he had first met a certain blond-haired host. And just when he was ready to finish it with the final brick that would undoubtedly make his fortress impenetrable, Haruhi had made some off-hand comment that made it crumble, and he had to start all over. It probably would have made it a little easier for him to cope, if it had only happened once. But Haruhi reduced Kyouya's fortress to ruin on a regular basis, leaving him weak and exposed.

And she didn't even realize it.

But this feeling of exposure was familiar to him, which was perhaps the only thing that gave him the strength to put his fortress back together each and every time that it broke. Because it was the same sort of feeling that he'd felt when he first met Tamaki. Much like Haruhi did now, he had been able to take away Kyouya's notebook, and see his eyes through the thick glass that shrouded them- but unlike Haruhi, Tamaki took apart the fortress brick by brick, because he wanted to see just what was on the other side. He wanted to understand exactly what it was that Kyouya put so much effort into protecting. Haruhi didn't care about this. She wasn't even aware of the presence of his fortress, because of how easily she could see through it. But that was okay. He preferred having the walls of his fortress be torn down blindly to having them being pulled apart and poked at and scratched and tampered with.

Because what always hurt him the most was when Tamaki gave up and walked away. As if it wasn't even worth trying to figure out anymore.

He always came back and examined the brickwork of Kyouya's fortress again, but there were still those moments, when he stopped wanting to understand it, even if just for a second, and it killed him to have to wonder what it was that made him not care anymore. And he didn't even know why. Because he certainly didn't _want_ Tamaki to understand him- not that he had very much to say about it. Who was he kidding? Tamaki had always understood him. He didn't realize it- Kyouya presumed that he never would, but Tamaki understood him perfectly. And this was quite an accomplishment, because even _he_ didn't understand himself perfectly. Still, he took comfort in knowing that Tamaki understood him, but at the same time he resented him for it. Because he was still trying to convince himself that he didn't need him to.

How long had it been since he had realized that he relied on being understood by Tamaki? Months. Years. But still he told himself that he didn't need this understanding. He rejected it only because he knew that the King would not submit to his arguments. He said to himself every day that he didn't want to be understood, but Tamaki didn't seem to hear him, for he went on understanding him anyway. But this was good, because Kyouya didn't _really_ want him to hear him protest. He didn't _really _want to disagree. But heaven forbid anybody else to realize that he depended upon the knowledge that somebody knew him better than he knew himself.

As far as the world knew (excepting Tamaki and Haruhi), he was nothing more than a cruel voice behind a pair of glasses and a black notebook. Nobody (excepting Tamaki) took the time to understand him, so none of them (excepting Haruhi) even considered that there might be a human heart inside of him, although it would take a long while in the sun to thaw it out properly. And he liked that people (excepting Tamaki and Haruhi) saw him this way, because it made him seem invincible. You cannot defeat what you don't understand, which means that Kyouya is invulnerable to everybody, except the two that undeniably and unwittingly know him inside and out. And although we would all like to be _completely_ indestructible, Kyouya cherishes these exceptions, because it means that at least somebody can appreciate that his heart has already been embraced by a feeling of comfortable warmth that will eventually spread to its core, even while the rest of the world will continue to see it as being as cold as it ever was.

Not because he needs them to see this warmth, but because he needs someone to be there to show it to him. So that he might know himself the way that they knew him.


End file.
